The sun was glinting on the Toblerone shaped peak of Ben More, the highest mountain on the Isle of Mull. The sky behind was cornflower blue, with only the faintest puffs of cloud above its summit. Purple heather stretched along the rocky slopes to the shores of Loch Na Keal below.
It promised to be a beautiful day, defying the myth of constant summer rain on the islands. The nine-mile drive from Salen along the dramatic, single-track road to the Ulva ferry had inspired even Anne’s sleepy teenagers to comment on the scenery. “It’s kind of cool mum,” James admitted in awe as he gazed up at the imposing Munro.
“Maybe we could hike up there later in the week?” Anne nodded, although she personally had no intention of tackling such a climb. It would take her totally out of her comfort zone. Exploring the island of Ulva with James was a more attractive prospect.
Sam, her husband, was still pouring over maps and tide timetables in the back of the car. He had promised to take their daughter, Poppy, on a kayak trip. They hoped to find a waterfall further up an inlet to the north, while James and Anne caught the foot passenger ferry across the Ulva Sound.
The plan was to rendezvous at The Boathouse Café on the island later in the afternoon, in time to catch the boat back to the mainland. Anne and James had only a short wait on the quay before the small craft docked beside them. The boatman reached out a hand to help Anne and four other walkers clamber down, while James jum.